


Vorfreude

by tsukist



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Boys' Love, Coma, Episode Related, Extended Scene, Heavy Angst, M/M, Psychology, Scene Rewrite, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukist/pseuds/tsukist
Summary: My rewrite of the No. 6 scene in which Nezumi takes care of Shion while he is in a comatose state.





	Vorfreude

**Author's Note:**

> vorfreude — (n.) the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures

“I’m back,” Nezumi called out, before he removed his shoes at the entrance and set his canvas bags full of goods on the wooden kitchen table. He glanced at the bed before continuing in a quieter voice, “I picked up some food at the market.”

He received no response. Instead, an abiding, lonely silence hung in the air. He inhaled sharply and took a seat at the table in the centre of the room, where he had placed his goods. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and glanced around the room, only to find that his gaze had once again fallen upon the bed. Except this time, his eyes didn't wander away. Nezumi stared at the bed, attempting to engrave the shape of the still body beneath the blankets into the back of his mind. He began to shiver, and sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His heart raced and his breathing stopped. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The image faded.

Nezumi exhaled slowly and looked away from the corner of the room. Instead, he focused his attention on his haul; a sack of potatoes, half a dozen carrots, two radishes, and two loaves of bread, one of them stale. He was quite proud to bring home so much food from the market—he lived in the slums, so shopping was often competitive—and he hoped that his companion would feel the same if he was awake. Nezumi smiled at the thought.

He glanced at the bed again. He clenched his fists and looked away, but he was far too weak to resist his true longing, and he couldn't take the waiting anymore.

Very quietly, he walked to the corner of the room where Shion lay sleeping on his bed. He sat down on the edge, which dipped beneath their combined weight. Shion did not stir. There was not so much as a shift in his breathing pattern.

“Hey,” Nezumi said. The word came out of his mouth suddenly and awkwardly, and somehow forced a chuckle out of him despite the situation. He knew that if Shion was awake, then he'd laugh too. “Your colour is looking better.”

A sigh escaped Nezumi once again. The candle next to the bed flickered. The dust motes danced in the low light. The sleeping boy remained still.

“I've been reading a lot of Shakespeare lately. To myself…” Nezumi paused and smiled softly, “and to you, of course. I hope you like Macbeth.”

Nezumi felt as though he was talking to a corpse. He shuddered at the thought, but took ahold of Shion’s hand to remind him that there was still warmth to his still body.

“Do you remember when you took care of me, when we first met? I had a bullet wound and a terrible fever, and although I did my best to hide it, I was panicking,” Nezumi chuckled, “but, you took care of me. You were so composed. Now, I'm trying to do the same for you, but…”

More silence. Loud silence. That was the thing about living underground; when things fell quiet, one could hear their own heartbeat. But, Nezumi didn't want to hear his heartbeat. It was rapid and unsteady. He was panicking. He didn't want to hear it.

“Your hands are really small,” he commented, looking for something, anything to distract him from the growing sense of fear. “They feel so fragile and thin when I hold them in mine.”

Shion failed to reply, yet again. He failed to move, even slightly. He failed to satisfy Nezumi’s need for him with the warmth of his unresponsive hand. He failed to wake.

“Please wake up,” Nezumi whispered, clasping Shion’s hand between the two of his and holding it to his lips, kissing his knuckles, rubbing his palm against his cheek; doing anything to feel his warmth. “You can't die here, when you haven't even…” Nezumi fell silent. He couldn't finish his sentence, as it would only make the situation more difficult. He could not lose hope. He needed to calm down.

_Be patient. He will wake up._

Eventually, once he had convinced himself that everything would work out; that everything would be _okay,_ his heartbeat slowed until he couldn’t help but wonder if it was still beating away in his aching chest. He held Shion’s hands to his lips and he closed his eyes, as if in the midst of prayer. He remained completely still and quiet, the only sounds being those that one hears at the eeriest of times, when the entire world holds it's breath; the sound of water dripping from the tap of the old, leaky sink; the hands of the clock ticking away; Hamlet scuttling across the floor, the scurrying of his feet beating in tune with the numb pounding of Nezumi’s heart; and, beneath this silent ruckus of three days rest and the rush of near insanity, the breathless utter of his name.

"Nezumi?"


End file.
